Propriety Be Damned
by Abydosorphan
Summary: Helen, John, James (and any pairing/OT3 combo therein). Can also include pretty much anyone else we've seen or heard about on the show. Prompt: How long did it take for John and James to realize that Helen isn't your typical woman, even after they became part of The Five. Can be either past or present looking back. Three Things You Don't Want: PWP, Helen/Will, Helen/Henry
_Oxford, England 1878_

Helen's eyes flashed with an intensity James had never before seen in the seven years he had known her.

"Stay, James. Please."

He flexed his fingers, the pressure of her grip around his wrist cutting off the circulation and sending spikes of semi-painful pinpricks traveling through his joints.

"If you need me, of course, I will stay."

She smiled, and although he couldn't fathom what need she would have of _him_ that night, he also knew there was no way he could refuse her.

James watched her smile as John's hand moved from where it caressed her cheek to entwine his fingers in a lone blonde curl. Then John's hand moved between him and Helen, drifting lower until he caught the lacing at the side of her corset, slowly untying it. James averted his eyes. He had no idea, nor did he care, what his friend was up to. Airs of propriety barely existed where any of the Five were concerned; but John knew how James felt, and should have known that this would be torture for him.

Quite frankly, James just expected better of John. What he did not expect was to feel the soft, moist heat of Helen's lips pressing against his own. Her hands threading their way under his jacket while John kissed the soft skin just below her ear.

* * *

 ** _Oxford, England 1872_**

"Be still my beating heart..."

James heard John's voice before he felt the jolt to the bench as John stepped on top of it.

"You're mad," James replied, not bothering to look up from his notes.

"Love makes you mad, my friend."

James looked up, his eyes tracing the path of John's gaze. Across the courtyard, with one of the university Deans, stood a woman unlike any he had ever beheld. Her full skirt and long, flowing, blonde locks contrasted against the dark robes he found himself surrounded by on a daily basis. He had never seen anything so exquisite in his entire life and could only hope to discover her name.

* * *

 _Oxford, England 1878_

John's lips moved from one side of her neck to the other. Helen's head tilted to the side, allowing him greater access while her hands worked quickly to divest James of his shirt and tie. He watched as his fiancé kissed his best friend, the two somehow fitting together in a way that made his head spin. Fleetingly, it crossed his mind that he should be jealous, but the hunger burning through his veins threw that thought aside.

They wanted, no _needed_ this, and the thought of sharing it with anyone else – even Nigel, and especially Nikola – churned his stomach.

No. This was something for them and them alone. Something that would bind them together more closely than the serum with which they had injected each other earlier that evening ever could.

John's tongue flicked the area of skin over Helen's jugular, the pounding of the blood through her veins filling his senses and stirring his hunger even more acutely. He heard the sharp intake of her breath as his teeth followed the same path, watched as she pulled James the slightest bit closer, her fingers digging into the flesh at his hips before she moved to work on his belt.

James pulled the lace free from the side of Helen's corset, and John took the opportunity to strip the garment from her shoulders and toss it across the room. She turned between them, their three bodies constantly touching in some way. She was the adhesive preventing them from falling apart, from giving themselves over to the serum completely and losing all control.

John's lips met Helen's, and he was drowning in her scent, in the sound of her blood pulsing, in the slight taste of James's brandy tingeing her lips. He marveled over how he could not consider _this_ losing control.

Helen relieved him of his shirt, and their hands fumbled over each other's as she reached for his belt at the same time that he reached for the fastenings on her skirt. He broke the kiss, stepping back from her just a fraction, and saw the heat that pooled below the surface of her deep blue eyes.

His belt hit the floor an instant before her skirt pooled around her feet, the thin material of her shift barely hiding the silhouette of her legs. Her hands smoothed across his chest, rising with his swift intake of air as he fisted his hand in her hair and pulled her closer, a shiver racing down his spine.

The fire in her eyes belied the soft, gentle way she voiced his name. "John."

He kissed her fiercely this time, claiming her mouth with bruising force as his teeth nipped at her lower lip. The sharp tang of her blood hit his tongue and only spurred him onward.

He needed to have her. Needed to have James. Needed to claim and possess both of them like he had never needed anything before in his life.

* * *

 ** _Oxford, England 1872_**

"Great heavens…."

He almost laughed as James stood from the bench and followed his gaze. Rumors of the possibility of women auditing classes had been floating through the hallway for several days now, but this was the first time that they had actually seen a woman being shown around the campus. To say that the woman standing across the courtyard from them had surpassed all of their hopes for the prospective students was putting it rather lightly.

John stepped off the bench and headed across the courtyard with an air of confidence that he was not entirely sure he felt, but he needed to know her name. He barely registered James reaching out and trying to grab his arm, hardly heard James' voice as he called out John's name; it was completely inappropriate and totally uncouth for him to approach, unsolicited, a woman whom he did not know. Conversely, by current standards it was totally unheard of for a woman to be walking the halls of this establishment and attending classes with the men. Protocol and tradition be damned, he was infatuated.

He caught her eye before he had made it halfway across the courtyard. The smile seemed hesitant at first, but when he did not back down, did not look away, and did not break the smile that crossed his face, her smile reached her eyes. If he had not been completely smitten with her already, she would have had him then. Her smile radiated from her face and he felt his voice catch in his throat as he stopped and formally bowed in front of her, ignoring the startled expression on the Dean's face.

"Montague John Druitt, at your service, Miss."

The crinkle at the corner of her eyes grew a bit deeper as her smile grew impossibly larger.

"Helen Magnus. It's a pleasure to meet you, Montague John Druitt." He could tell by the curve of her lips and the way she said his name that she would surprise and never disappoint.

And he was looking forward to every minute of it.

* * *

 ** _Oxford, England 1878_**

Helen felt her chest pressing in on her. Her breath coming in quick, short gasps. It was all too much and not enough at the same time.

John.

James.

Her blood boiling through her arteries and veins with a heat and desire she had never known before.

Her fingers curled through James' hair, her head lolling back on John's shoulder as a deep moan escaped from her throat.

She would share anything – everything – with them. Her best friend and her fiancé/lover. She knew intrinsically she could trust them completely.

Tonight, she was falling.

She had allowed the hunger to take control. She had given in and they had followed and supported her in a way that she would normally never have asked of them.

The heat coiled through her body. Encouraged by their actions, encouraged by their movements, and encouraged by the immense outpouring of emotion that she felt from them.

Tonight, she had stepped to the edge of that cliff and fallen right over knowing that they would be there to catch her.

* * *

 _New City, USA 2009_

Helen Magnus put the cup of tea down on its saucer, her breath coming in slow, even, controlled motions. For so long she had felt like her life was finally reaching a point of order. A point where she could trust in the people with whom she worked and had known for years, decades, some even centuries.

This last year had shaken her resolve.

Thrown a kink in her plans.

Tore at her heart.

James was dead. The friend - and occasional lover - who had seen her through more of her life than she ever cared to admit to anyone else, was lost to her forever.

John was back. She wasn't sure how she felt about that.

She took another sip of her tea and stared out the window across the room. When they had been at Oxford, she had truly loved John with all of her heart. After the night with the source blood, when she had felt so close to completely losing any semblance of control – and she had – she had leaned on the two men whom she'd known would help and support her through anything, the three of them had forged a bond that could and would never be broken.

Which left her with now.

Conflicted over her feelings with John.

Hating what the source blood had done to him. What it had allowed him to become.

Loving the man he had once been. The man she hoped was still within him. The man she thought she had caught glimpses of over the last few days.

Loving the child they had created. The child she had hidden from him for as long as she could. The child who was now very much an adult with a mind of her own.

Closing her eyes, Helen exhaled slowly. The one person she would normally go to for advice was the one person who was forever out of reach. For the first time in over a century, she felt like her support system needed some rebuilding.

Ashley was her daughter, and as close as they were, some things one just did _not_ discuss with their children.

Will was a colleague and they were fostering a budding friendship, but again, some things just weren't openly discussed.

A firm, warm arm ran across her shoulder blades, a tuft of fur tickling her neck as it moved. She leaned into his touch, welcoming his presence if nothing else. Sometimes, propriety would be damned, and sometimes the quiet support of a good friend was all that was needed.


End file.
